


Ready, Set, Go! - World of Warcraft Speed Prompts

by Asynca



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: F/F, Gen, either 500 words or whatever I can write in an hour, short prompts as I write them, speed prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:08:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27450982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asynca/pseuds/Asynca
Summary: Just a series of flashfics (usually 500-1000 words) I write in an hour while I'm just chilling out, as I post them. Will tend towards family drama and/or lesbians. Mix of angst, romance and comedy.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	Ready, Set, Go! - World of Warcraft Speed Prompts

**Prompt - I wanted to write sad, lonely Vereesa because sad Vereesa is best Vereesa. Written in an hour.**

* * *

Strictly speaking, Vereesa knew there wasn’t anything _wrong_ with Dalaran. The opposite, in fact. Mages still made pilgrimage here from all over Azeroth to patron the vast libraries, to mix with each other and share theories and research, and, of course, to mix in Dalaran’s buzzing social scene. The parties weren’t like they used to be before the Third War, though. Quel’dorei faces, once a ubiquitous and central part of Dalaran, were now as rare as hen’s teeth.

It wasn’t that Vereesa had anything personal against non-quel’dorei—some of her favourite people were non-quel’dorei!—it was just that, well, it wasn’t the same. The Alliance really was just a military alliance, and she found the cultural differences between their races were impenetrable. Humans found her stuck-up. Gnomes thought her old-fashioned. Dwarves typically preferred to socialise only within their own clans anyway, and the kaldorei—well, they were kaldorei. They belonged in nature and Vereesa was only too happy that they preferred to be there instead of in a bustling city, because aside from them, only the sin’dorei were ruder and more dismissive of her. 

Parties didn’t go on into the night anymore; people ate, made polite conversation, and then left before midnight. Friends didn’t linger to keep each other company. In fact, it had been months since Vereesa’s guest bedroom had been used.

It was claustrophobic, almost. To be surrounded by so many people and yet to feel like your very identity was the echo of a lost past; a grim reminder to people about what _used_ to be. 

The worst thing about it all was that she could remember so clearly what it used to be like: her parlour full to the brim with friends, all of them a little drunk on Dalaran special, and bubbling with energy after a day full of activities. If she closed her eyes, she could see it: her room full of people who probably should be home in bed by now. She could still hear the ring of their laughter, the protests as they teased each other, and the hushed tones of forbidden conversations. Vereesa used to stand at the door sometimes and look across them, feeling so proud it was in _her_ house they had chosen to gather. It was _her_ parlour they were in and _her_ carefully chosen furniture they were draped across, tipsy and relaxed. She’d never wanted those nights to end.

Like all things, they did.

Even now, she could remember each of those faces in her parlour so clearly. Each pair of blue eyes, each smile, and each laugh. Most of those people would never laugh again, their blue eyes dark and their bodies resting forever underneath the beautiful yellow tulips of Silvermoon. Some of them, confused in their grief, had fallen to the addictive clutches of fel magic—almost a fate _worse_ than death. Either way, they were gone to her, and her parlour was quiet and empty.

She still changed the sheets on her guest bed once and month to keep them fresh. Arator might visit, after all, even if his mother probably never would.

Alleria didn’t write, either. Vereesa had expected that much, at least. They’d never been particularly close, but that shouldn’t have mattered: they were _sisters_. Vereesa had raised her son! Surely that warranted a letter even once a month? 

Vereesa had tried at first. She sent two letters, on the first of each month. A few weeks later she’d received a letter in the post sealed with the old Farstrider crest and her heart had nearly launched into her throat. Alleria! It felt thick: that meant lots of pages. She’d practically danced upstairs to her study (Giramar had made a face and asked his brother, “What’s up with _Mom_?”) to make herself some tea, lay out two of her favourite cookies and then sit by the fire to read her sister’s news.

When she’d pulled out the letter, however, it was just one page; and something else fell into her lap. One page with hardly any writing on it, just one sentence in Alleria’s precise handwriting. “ _I saw this and it reminded me of home. -A_ ”

Vereesa frowned, and then looked down at her lap. In it was a long blue feather like the Skyspring falcons that used to fly over the Windrunner estate. It was a little too long to be a falcon’s, though; the curve made it seem more ‘waterbird’ than ‘bird of prey’. It was mystifying.

“You sent me a feather,” Vereesa realised, feeling all the air seep from her lungs.

It was nice Alleria hadn’t completely forgotten her, of course, but— _this_? After the pages and pages Vereesa had sent to her? In her own letters, Vereesa had made sure she tried to guess what Alleria was interested in and involved with and asked so many questions about it. In her last letter, she’d even insisted Alleria come to visit her and meet her boys.

But Alleria had sent her a feather and answered absolutely none of the questions. She could feel her eyes welling with tears.

She blinked them away. There was no use in being silly about this. Obviously Alleria hadn’t forgotten her; she’d seen a blue feather, it had reminded her of home and she’d wanted to share that with Vereesa. That suggested she was thinking of her, didn’t it? That she’d carefully rescued the feather and made the effort to send it to her.

 _You never knew her very well_ , Vereesa reminded herself, standing and putting the long blue feather on her mantlepiece. Perhaps this was just how Alleria was. Both Vereesa and Sylvanas had always privately agreed she was a bit weird, and clearly 1000 years hadn’t changed her much.

Vereesa decided there was definitely no use in feeling sorry for herself about it. The lump in her throat was pointless and didn’t belong. If she wanted to hear Alleria’s news, she’d just have to do it on Alleria’s terms: in person.

“I should visit you,” Vereesa decided, eyes on the feather. As soon as she’d made that decision, she began to plan for it.


End file.
